


Trying

by whatdoyouthinkmyjobis



Series: Hunters on the Hellmouth [17]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Bonding, Comforting Dean, Comforting Sam, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s07e04 Help, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Minor Character Death, Team Bonding, episode rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 03:44:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8234938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatdoyouthinkmyjobis/pseuds/whatdoyouthinkmyjobis
Summary: Buffy and Dean pull out all the stops to save a girl from her vision of dying.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter inspired by events in BTVS 7.04 “Help.” Jen was inspired by Cassie Newton, but since I changed many elements of her story, I changed her name too.

Willow took deep breaths to keep from hyperventilating. Her eyes stung from the tears.

Xander rubbed her back and handed her a tissue. “Want me to drive you home, Will?”

“No.” She had just visited Tara’s grave, and all the horror of her girlfriend’s murder and the guilt of the aftermath washed over her like a lava flow. She was burned and buried by her emotions, but visiting Tara was the only thing that could get her out of her room. “I-I need to keep moving,” she choked and blew her nose. “C-could we keep walking? It’s so nice out today.”

“Sure thing. Would you like to walk back through the park? Or maybe we could get some coffee at The Espresso Pump?”

“Coffee sounds great. I haven’t had good, American-pretending-to-be-Italian coffee in a while.”

“And how was the Land of Tea?” Xander asked.

Willow shrugged. She’d mostly been too afraid of herself and her powers to venture out of her room, let alone explore the nearby village. Unless Giles or Miss Harkness, the head of the coven, ousted her, she had stayed in bed holding one of Tara’s shirts. “It was green. Hilly. Damp.”

“Did you rub elbows with the Queen?” he asked in a terrible English accent. He always knew how to bring a smile to her lips.

“No elbows were rubbed, Xander. She was miles away. Probably for the best. I was stressed enough about my magic without worrying about regicide.”

“Now you’re back in the good ol’ U.S. of A. I suggest coffee today, deep-fried Twinkies tomorrow.”

“I’m not sure I could stomach that. I was thinking maybe taking over the couch and watching TV. Of course, the house would need to be a little quieter for that,” she grumbled. “Is it always like that now?”

“Are you referring to your two mysterious male modeling quasi-housemates? You know how the Buffster gets when she has a new boyfriend. It’s non-stop making out and sneaking off for unquiet sex.”

“What is up with that? I went to the basement to get paper towels, and something was apparently so arousing about clean clothes that they need to get down and dirty right there on the dryer.”

“That’s our girl,” Xander sighed. “Did Buffy at least acknowledge you existed? The first couple weeks they were here, I had to yank her head out of the clouds a few times.”

“We had moments without Winchesters in the house. Of course, she spent those hours telling me all about the Winchesters.”

“Of course!”

“I didn’t mind, though. It was listen to a wacky story or sort through Tara’s things. I don’t have the energy for that yet.” Willow pushed the button for the crosswalk and watched the cars zip by.

“Xander, do you believe their story? That an angel moved them through time?”

Her friend extended his elbow to her, support which she gladly accepted as they crossed the street. “It sounds completely crazy, but when in the last seven years have our lives not been crazy? I believe them. It might not be true, but they want to fight evil. They kill vampires. They’re kind to Dawn. They hate Spike. And Dean makes Buffy very happy. Those are all good things in my book. If only we could do something to make them less ridiculously handsome.” He clucked his tongue in mock disgust. “But I’m guessing you didn’t ask me because you want to be president of the Winchester fan club.”

“Angels and time travel do not give me the good butterflies, but I think Sam’s theory that they’re from another dimension is right. When I was in England, Miss Harkness helped me understand how everything is connected, vibrating in the same rhythm. I can feel the same life pumping through you as I can through her,” she said, nodding at a blonde in spandex skating by.

“When I’m pumping her, does it feel as good as I hope?”

Willow gave him her disapproving puppy eyes. “Not that kind of pumping, Xander. I’m talking about life energies. We all have the same energy flowing through us. Except for Sam and Dean.”

“What? Whoa!” said Xander, stopping in his tracks. “They don’t have any life energy? So, they’re dead? Or undead? Or re-dead? What sort of dead are we talking about?”

“Not dead. Even the vampires have this energy, but Sam and Dean have a different energy. I’ll show you,” she said, leading him the final block to the coffee house. Pointing at the patrons, she explained, “Black coffee, frothy cappuccino, vanilla latte, mocha, decaf with cream. It’s all from the same source. Different flavors, same coffee goodness. Then there’s that girl over there with her frozen strawberry thing. Completely different source. That doesn’t mean it’s bad, but there’s no coffee there.”

“You’re telling me the Winchesters are frozen, blended fruit beverages?”

“Pretty much, and since I’m a coffee, I can’t get a read on their berries.”

“I’m going to let that one slide. Which flavor of yourself would you like?”

* * *

 

Buffy reminded herself that hitting students wasn’t okay. The fluffy-haired boy in a childish striped polo had been complaining for five minutes about a girl who wouldn’t go out with him.

“Girls always complain about their terrible boyfriends,” he whined, “but they don’t really want a nice guy like me. They say they do, but they want bad boys with tattoos and a muscle car.”

She bit her lip to keep from rolling her eyes. “Tell me, Steve, what exactly makes you a nice guy?”

He looked hurt that he’d been asked such an obvious question. “Well, I hold the door open for her, and every morning I buy her orange juice. When we’re hanging out on the weekend, if she wants to watch some stupid girl movie, we do it. I mean, I treat her like a princess.”

“That’s the problem. You’re not a white knight out to rescue a princess from the fire-breathing tattooed dragon. You can’t send yourself on a quest and tell her she’s the prize. She gets a choice, and if her choice isn’t you, move on.”

“But–”

“If you tell me you’re nice one more time, I’m going to puke. Being nice is not the same as emotionally blackmailing someone into being with you. Now get back to class.”

Buffy barely had a moment to breathe before another student sat down in her office. This one had lank brown hair streaked with pink and bright fringed and floral clothes. Her arms full of bracelets like a carnival fortune teller. Unlike a fake fortune teller with her carefully crafted air of mystery, this girl radiated sadness.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah, um, God, this is hard. I’m trying to break up with my boyfriend.” Her voice was high pitched, almost squeaky, but confident.

“And he won’t leave you alone?”

“Kind of.”

“Why do you want to break up?”

“I don’t,” the girl sighed.

“Breaking up because you don’t want to break up? New. Tell me more.”

The girl squinted at her, her big hazel eyes darting over Buffy’s face, hair, and clothes. “You’re Buffy Summers.”

“Old info. Who are you?”

“Oh, uh, Jen. I heard you saved a friend of mine from something in the basement a few weeks back. Don’t freak! I’m not going to tell anyone. I mean, we all know this town is a little nuts, so it’s nice to hear someone’s helping for once. My life is weird right now, and I thought maybe the counselor who fights monsters may be my best shot at being understood.”

Familiar territory then? “Your boyfriend’s a monster?”

“No! My boyfriend, Jeremy, is great. He’s sweet and funny and he knows all these random things like he’s some sorta walking Trivial Pursuit box. But I don’t want him to get hurt, and if I’d known about this when he asked me out six months ago, I would have turned him down.”

“Still in the dark here, Jen. Known about what?”

“I’m going to die.”

In Buffy’s world “going to die” meant anything from cursed to hunted, but Jen wasn’t in her world, not fully. “You mean, like, cancer?”

The girl flashed a broad smile. “No, nothing serious I just know I’m dying on Friday.”

“Jen, you don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. I’ve always just known things. I knew in summer camp when I was seven that my cousin was going to drown in the lake. In fifth grade, I got a clear vision while eating breakfast that I would break my arm in gym class. I knew two weeks before it happened that my dad was going to lose his job, and mom would end up leaving him.”

“Are you telling me you’re psychic?” asked Buffy, not convinced.

“Nah. I just get these feelings, always about people connected to me. Like, the longer I sit here and talk with you, the more I know you feel it too.”

The hairs on Buffy’s arms pickled and a chill ran down her neck. “Feel what?” she asked slowly as if Jen was an angry dog she didn’t want to agitate.

“That it’s unfair to let someone fall in love with you when you know you’re going to die. That’s why I have to break up with Jeremy. It will be better for him.” She spoke with the same matter-of-fact tone as the honor students discussing their top three college choices.

“Jen, you’re not going to die–”

She stood up and slung her bag over her shoulder. “It’s not like I want to. It’s just that I am. I thought you’d understand.”

* * *

 

Sam’s feet felt like anvils has he trudged up the stairs to his apartment.

 _Something must be in the water_ , he thought. Instead of doing his actual job of school librarian, he’d spent the last couple days disrupting pranksters _(How did so much cheese get in so many books?_ ) and sending bullies to the office. In a constantly packed (and in desperate need of organizing) library, three kids had checked out books this week. To add insult to injury, he’d been put on the list of chaperones for a dance on Saturday.

_I should definitely test the water._

He wanted nothing more from his evening than to down a giant bowl of pasta and a beer before crawling into bed by ten; however, he knew tonight would involve more looking for clues in Jen’s Livejournal, medical history, and school records as to what may be trying to kill an otherwise ordinary teenage girl.

Sam found Dean drinking a beer and poring over several days worth of newspapers. “Saw the landlord out front. What’d he want?”

“To make sure we were actually cleanin’ this place up. For once, we ain’t just squatters.” Dean creased the paper, ripped out a short article, and added it to the pile on the counter. “He was impressed. Offered us both work fixing the rest of his properties.”

“If I didn’t feel like I was helping keep kids safe – caught a kid performing a love spell in the bathroom, by the way – I’d take him up on that. You know, sometimes I think the vampire librarian had the right idea with some of these students,” he said as he grabbed a beer from the fridge.

“Ah, don’t let some snot-nosed punks get ya down. I told him you were happy with your books.”

Sam plopped down on their newly acquired couch. “You gonna think about his offer?”

“Said I can set my own hours, I just gotta fix up the nearly half dozen buildings he got when his brother kicked it last winter and be on call. No one asking me why I’m all bruised. No one expecting me to show up at six in the damn morning. Don’t know what I need to think about.”

“Sounds good. Hey, when are we heading over to Buffy’s?”

Fold. Tear. Drop. “We aren’t.”

Sam sat up and looked at his brother, intent on his growing pile of news clippings. “You two fighting again?”

“Nope, but if I have to read another angsty emo poem, I’m gonna shoot myself!” he grumbled. “Everyone’s been tied up on this Jen kid the past few days, I told told Buffy we’d check the papers and the usual haunts.” He got up and handed his clippings to Sam. “Here’s what happens when no one’s on patrol.”

He quickly browsed the obituaries and police blotter articles, about twenty in all. “Shit! This is all vampire deaths in three days?”

“Buffy said the Hellmouth is rumblin’. Looks like it’s calling the evil s.o.b.’s home. Even if there’s a few nests around, the only thing that makes sense of this body count is new players in town.”

Sam started organizing the stack by place of burial or place of death. Somberly, he asked, “Dean, what do you think the odds are that Jen survives tomorrow?”

His big brother took a long pull on his beer. “I was thinking we should go loaded for bear tonight. Stick together. We may run into a few packs.”

* * *

 

When Spike daydreamed about Buffy, he often recalled one night in his crypt several weeks into their affair. She straddled him, her knees pressing into his ribs, her silky thighs gliding over his skin. She glowed warm in the candlelight. He’d wanted to sit up, take one of her bouncing breasts in his mouth, suck the bud her nipple until she gasped, but she was holding him down, riding him hard to get what she wanted. As they both climaxed, the pleasure making him tremble beneath her, she smiled.

For the first time with him, she had smiled.

They cuddled in his bed and he showered her shoulders with kisses. She moaned happily. Her body soft, relaxed for the first time. She was comfortable with him.

Before long, something horrible came bubbling from inside of him, some insult or accusation he couldn’t hold back, and she’d stormed out in a huff. One night was all he wanted. One night where he could push the demon down deep enough that she was only with him, but a few hours was all he could ever last.

The Buffy before him wasn’t soft and smiling. Her red lips parted, golden hair cascading down her shoulders, eyes all long lashes and sly glances. This was the Buffy who toyed with him before fucking him. Cold and untouchable, this Buffy knew how to take.

She tucked her hair behind her ear and scowled. “That’s it? She patrols and goes home?”

“She’s the Slayer. What do you think she does? Harlequin book club?” He felt like they’d been having this conversation for hours. Maybe they had. He didn’t track time in the the school’s basement. “Don’t you ever get tired of talking about ‘er?”

“She’s all you think about,” Buffy replied. “Fine, related topic. You said she’s seeing someone. Tell me about him.”

 _Dean_. Spike had followed them on several occasions, but he knew little. The man was good at killing vampires, which got Buffy so riled up, they were usually half naked before climbing into the backseat of his car. The sight of him, some brainless coverboy with his hands all over her, his lips trailing over her pulse, pumping away inside of her made him seethe. How could Dean ever know her, understand her? “‘E’s just some big, dumb bloke she’s gettin’ her jollies with. Don’t think it’s serious.”

“I need details.”

“I don’t know anything!” he bellowed.

“Then kill him first. I want her to suffer for a bit.” A cunning grin took over her face. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Killing her new lover?”

He didn’t like Dean at all, but he didn’t want to kill him. “I don’t want to ‘urt her.”

Buffy, her hair slipping from its ponytail, her eyes tired, squatted in front of him and grabbed his hand. If his heart could still beat, it would have leapt from his chest at her kind touch, touch he felt unworthy of. She was real. “There’s a girl, she’s in danger, and she needs your help. Now. Time is running out. It’s Friday, the day Jen said she’s going to die. Is there something evil in the school? Down here, maybe. Spike, please, do you know anything?”

He could not look at her. Too beautiful. Too special. Spike shook his head no, and she let go of his hand. “I don’t want to ‘urt you, Buffy. I love you.”

She stepped back. “You don’t know what love means.”

“I went to _Hell_ for you, pet.”

“Do you want a thank you? A medal? I didn’t ask you go to Hell. I didn’t ask you to get your soul back. I asked you to leave me alone. I made a mistake, then I ended it. All the decisions since then have been yours.”

“Ours,” he said, sweeping his finger in a room-encompassing circle. “Your new plaything know you’re ‘ere? You did tell him about us, right?”

Buffy crossed her arms. “He’s not my ‘play thing,’ and he’s not your business.”

“I don’t like ‘im,” Spike growled.

“I’ll take that as a ringing endorsement.”

“You’ve danced this dance before, pet. Wantin’ to be normal when you are the farthest thing from it. I see you. It’s why you like ‘im. He can play the ‘andsome Ken doll to your Barbie, but plastic melts when the heat turns up.”

She squinted at him, her head tilted to the side like he’d seen her do many time before she’d start swinging. “Have you been working on that speech all this time?”

“I don’t want you to get ‘urt is all.”

Her heels drummed against the basement floor as she walked back toward the stairs. “Too late.”

* * *

 

Friday night out on the town in his Impala alone with his girl. The classic rock station pumped out The Ramones at an inappropriately low volume. As always, Buffy was beautiful. She wore a low-cut t-shirt and long dark skirt that put ideas in his head of fucking her against a wall off some busy street, daring someone to catch them.

_Yeah yeah she’s the one / When I see her on the street / You know she makes my life complete / And you know I told you so / She’s the one, she’s the one_

Dean slid across the bench seat, his arm around her. She remained fixated on the world outside the window. He was leaning in to brush a kiss on her neck when she whipped around, knocking his nose with her jaw. “Are you serious?!”

He pressed his nose tenderly. His pride definitely got it worse. “What?”

“Timing, Dean. We’re on a stakeout. Did you not notice the dark sneaking outfit?”

Sam and Xander had followed Jen home after school, and they’d taken over when night fell. A week of research turned up nothing, but Buffy was determined to stop whatever was trying to kill Jen.

“You know, she could be in there slipping in the shower or eating nasty death tacos, and we wouldn’t even know.”

“Don’t say that,” she said, turning off the radio.

“All I’m saying is this chick gave you a vague story and no reason to believe it, yet here we are trying to stop the vague.”

“I know it in my gut,” Buffy said, turning back to the house.

Soon a battered Honda covered in skating stickers rumbled up the driveway. Jen trotted out to meet the driver, a teenage boy in plaid pants and spiked hair. He gave her a hug and kiss, but she pulled away with a terse smile and slipped into his passenger seat.

“Do murderers wear plaid pants?” Dean asked, watching the seemingly happy-go-lucky kid get back into his car.

“That’s Jeremy, her boyfriend. I think. She’s been trying to break up with him.”

“In that case, he’s totally not going to hurt her. Historically, men take getting dumped super great.”

A crash down the street drew Dean’s attention. Someone had started partying early and was drunkenly bumping against cars while speeding toward Jen’s house. Jeremy’s music blared as he backed into the street. Dean laid into his horn, and the kid slammed on his brakes with his trunk hanging in the street. The drunk driver swerved at the last minute, knocked off the Impala’s mirror, and continued speeding down the street.

“Yep, somebody’s dying,” Dean grumbled.

They followed as the kids drove to a park toward the center of town where Jeremy and Jen got out and – with all the intelligence of the average Sunnydale citizens – went for a walk toward the carousel in the middle of the park. Within minutes, they picked up a tail of three hungry-looking boys.

“Oh my God!” shouted Buffy, suddenly wobbly and clutching Dean for support. “Baby, there’s a carousel! Do you think they have a mermaid I could ride?”

The boys stopped to watch them stumbling on the path.

Following suit, Dean began to sway. “I know something else you could ride.” He grinned at her with his tongue sticking out as he pulled her toward a copse of trees. Fangs out, the three boys followed them into the dark.

_Poof. Poof. Poof._

Buffy brushed off her clothes. “They are not getting smarter.”

After a few rounds on the carousel, the couple returned to the Honda and drove to Casey’s Place, the same worn theme diner where Dean and Buffy had eaten the night they met. After a few minutes, Jen walked out alone and beelined to the Impala. “You guys can just come in, you know. They have decent shakes and fries.”

“How did you–”

“This car is not subtle.”

A smile burst across Jen’s face as she examined them. “Is this your boyfriend? He’s cute for an old guy,” she declared before heading back to the diner.

“‘Cute for an old guy,’” Dean mocked as he followed Buffy inside.

* * *

 

Jen and Jeremy had taken a booth in the back. From the looks of things, the boy was hoping this would be discreet enough for making out, but for all her forced smiles and half-attempts at eye contact, Jen looked sad and slightly green.

The gap-toothed waitress shuffled over, her face lighting up when she saw Buffy and Dean. “It’s you! Glad to see you again.”

“Excuse me?” asked Buffy, reluctantly tearing her eyes away from the teens.

“I remember you two was in here a couple months back. I never forget a face. Had a girl with you and another gentleman. And I thought to myself then ‘Marsha, isn’t that the cutest couple you ever did see?’ You two are going to have beautiful babies. Now what can I get ‘cha?”

Dean, big strong hunter, steely-face poker hustler, blushed so hard his ears turned purple as he gaped.

“Pecan pie? Two. And a couple coffees,” said Buffy, smirking at his discomfort. She didn’t like the comment either, but she was more used to the invasive opinions of other people. Once a stranger had told her that she and Riley were meant to be because lasting couples look alike. But Dean wasn’t used to the quirks of dating. Pick up. Hook up. Good bye. Where did having a girlfriend fall on the terror scale between run-of-the-mill vampires and horrifying beautiful babies?

A chuckle bubbled up in her throat. “You know, I think this is our first date.”

“What?”

“We go on patrol together. We hang out. Watch movies. We make dinner, but we don’t go out.” They’d fallen into an easy rhythm. Without even trying, they became a rut-dwelling, long time couple with less than a month behind them.

Ignoring his pie and coffee, Dean stared at Buffy with large green eyes rife with confusion. “Oookaaay. I didn’t know bad coffee was so important to you.”

Jeremy and Jen were holding hands and playing footsie. Something about the smitten punker boy broke through her death cloud.

“It’s not the coffee, Dean,” she sighed as she poured a fourth creamer in her cup. He had never needed to woo her. She may have thought he was a bit of a cocky jerk the night they met, but she still wanted to sleep with him. She pursued her fling harder than she’d ever pursued a boyfriend. Once he bedded her, he easily melted her over and over into a tingling pool. “It’s just that if we’re going to try this dating thing, maybe we should occasionally date. You plan something nice. I get dressed up. You tell me I’m pretty.”

“I told you, I’m not any good at this stuff,” he said, now calm enough to down a large bite of pie.

“Give it a try! I doubt you’re bad at it. Wait, you got something…” She leaned over the table to wipe a drop of pie from the corner of his mouth. Quickly, he sucked her entire finger into his mouth, running his tongue along the length, sucking hard on the sweet tip. Warmth rushed through her entire body, and she squeezed her legs together to calm the throbbing.

Dean Winchester didn’t need to try.

“I’m, uh, going to get some napkins,” she said with a bigger smile than the subject deserved.

At the counter, Marsha hissed at a sweaty guy in an unseasonably large coat. “Dale, we talked about this. You can’t move back in. Now, you’re gonna have to buy somethin’ or go elsewhere.” She headed down the counter to pour coffee for a couple tipsy guys.

Dale stomped and fidgeted, running his hands through his hair as if he needed to make sure his head was still attached. When he jammed his hand in his coat pocket, Buffy spotted something silver and grabbed his wrist.

“Do the smart thing here,” she growled in his ear.

“Back off, bitch!”

Buffy shoved her hand in his pocket and squeezed the gun barrel closed. “You should go before I break something else.”

Napkinless, she returned to her table where Dean was grinning at her like an idiot. “Five minutes before the coach turns back into a pumpkin. Got plans for the rest of the night, Cinder-elly?”

“I always felt bad for the animals in that movie. Changing from an animal to a human and back has to hurt.” She took a sip of coffee and muttered to herself, “I guess I could ask Amy.”

Suddenly, the racket of dropped silverware and broken glass pierced the air. Jeremy shouted for help as Jen, foaming at the mouth, seized in the booth.

Her coffee crashed to the floor as Buffy rushed to the girl’s side. _CPR?_ No, she was still breathing. People shouted instructions, but they swelled into a useless, muted buzz. Jeremy held Jen’s hand. The girl wracked and shook.

Buffy couldn’t stop it. She punched things. Stabbed things. She couldn’t save people. Not like this.

A small tremble, and Jen stopped, her skin turning blue and cold. Her dead eyes fixed on Buffy.

* * *

 

Dean drove Buffy home in silence. When they arrived, lights were still on in the house. _Damn_. Willow had grown invested in the case, but Dawn had actually become Jen’s friend.

“Do you want me to go in first? Break the bad news?” he asked, reaching over to stroke her head.

“No, I can do it,” she said, staring at the house with hollow eyes. “Would you stay tonight?”

“Anything you need, Girly.”

Together, they stumbled up the porch steps. Dawn threw the door open wide before they reached it. Willow was right behind her. “What happened?!”

Buffy sucked in a sharp breath. “Dawnie, I…” She bit her lip, unable to say more.

“No. NO!” Dawn yelled, tears streaming down her cheeks as she raced upstairs. Buffy squeezed Dean’s hand before following her sister.

“What happened?” repeated Willow, struggling to hold back tears.

“She just died. It was almost like Fate was out to get her. Buffy saved that girl over an’ over tonight, but it didn’t matter. In the end, it was a seizure. Her first one.”

“Oh my God.” Her eyes glazed over, unfocused, as she trudged up the stairs.

He headed to the kitchen to wait out Dawn’s wailing with a beer. Fate. He didn’t believe in fate, especially when the word dripped like poison from the lying tongue of an angel. Maybe Buffy’s world was different. Maybe she couldn’t live giving fate the finger like he did. She was fated to be the Slayer, and the Slayer she would be.

The wailing died down, so Dean went upstairs. When he put his ear to Buffy’s door, he could hear muffled screams. He knocked softly. “It’s me.”

“Come in.”

Buffy was on her knees by the foot of the bed with a pillow in her hands. Her nose was red, her eyes swollen from crying.

Dean sat beside her and pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he said. She shuddered against his chest. Her mourning was so quiet, he wondered how often she’d shut herself in her room and screamed into her pillow.

“I’ve swept in at the last minute and saved hundreds of people,” she whispered in a hoarse voice. “I’ve saved my friends, my sister, complete strangers. Seven years as the Slayer, and this is the first time someone’s asked me for help ahead of time. I had a week’s warning, and I failed her.”

“You didn’t fail her.”

“How can you say that? She’s dead!”

He held her closer. “Darlin’, you did everything you could to save her from a horrible death. You saved her from vamps Curly, Mo, an’ Larry. You stopped a looney with a gun. She died because her number was up, not because you failed. Jen had a seizure. I don’t know anyone who died of natural causes, so that’s a win in my book.”

Slowly, Buffy’s breathing steadied. Still curled in a ball on his lap, she drew invisible lines on his chest. “How many times have you done this, Dean?”

“Done what?”

“Lost someone.”

“Lost count.”

She flattened one palm against his chest and the other against his thigh. “Some of them you counted. You had their initials tattooed on you. Initials and a date, right? Would you tell me about them?”

Dean tried to suppress the surprise he felt. His mother and father were obvious, but he’d never explained the list on his leg. He had never seen the point in talking about the past. He couldn’t bring them back. He couldn’t wipe their deaths from his memory. He couldn’t save them. “You sure? It ain’t no picnic.”

“I don’t need all the gory details. I just want to know their stories. Your story.”

“Right. Initials and the date they died. First one was Father Jim–”

“Made-you-clean-the-church Father Jim?” she asked, surprised.

“Yeah, he, uh, was killed by a demon, bitch named Meg. Then she killed Caleb. Made my dad listen over the phone as he choked on his own blood. Both of ‘em, well, we’d lost touch over the years, but they looked out for me an’ Sammy when we were kids. Dad would drop us off, sometimes without a warnin’, and they’d feed us. Keep us safe. Father Jim would even raid the parish donation bin so we’d have clothes that fit. Caleb was a stoic son of a bitch – most hunters are – but he taught me a hell of a lot about weapons.” He tried to smile, as if knowing how to make a sawed-off could erase what had happened.

Buffy said nothing. Her face was twisted in pain and horror. She kept her eyes on him as if that would keep her from floating away on her own raft of misery.

“Then there was Pamela, a psychic. Met her when we were tryin’ to figure out how I came back from the dead. Her, uh, her eyes burned out when she tried to see Cas. Later that year, a demon stabbed her while she was protecting me and Sam. She was always there when we needed her, and it only ever seemed to bite her in the ass.”

“That’s terrible,” Buffy said as she held his hand.

“Oh and Ash! Ash was a goofy guy, scrawny and pale. Mullet. Scraggly-ass beard. Fucking brilliant ex-MIT student. Helped us on a buncha cases, but even if we didn’t need help, we’d stop at Ellen’s Roadhouse to see everyone. Don’t tell anyone, but the bastard cleaned me out in pool once. Said he won because he’d been studying some sort of fancy math and – kid you not, he said this – ‘God smiles on men with a good head a hair.’”

Buffy laughed into her hands. “I wish I could have met Ash. He sounds like fun. And so sexy.”

Dean smiled because she smiled. “You’re already falling for that dead son of a bitch.”

“How did he die?”

“Pack a demons burned the Roadhouse down.”

“God, it’s just non-stop demons where you’re from.”

“Last few years, yeah.”

She curled back into his lap, head over his heart. “What about the last two?”

“Last two? You got my tattoo memorized?” he evaded.

“Mmm, yes. All of them. I like to look at you, Dean, especially when you’re naked.” She traced her finger over his jeans. “There are two more sets of initials. Same date of death. Did demons get them too?”

“Kind of. They, um, they…it was only a few months ago.” He thought about Jo, blanched and sweaty, bleeding to death from the gash the Hellhound gave her. Her lips were soft and cold when he kissed her goodbye. He’d wanted for so long to kiss her, but never like that.

“Who were they?”

“Jo Harvelle and her mother, Ellen. Dad dropped us off with Ellen a few times when we were kids. I barely remembered it; we stayed with so many people. For some reason though, I remember Jo was she was a baby. Bunch a blonde curls. She’d crawl after me all the time.”

“How old were you?”

“Seven or so.”

“I remember Dawn crawling after me when I was that age. I hated it. Must have driven you crazy.”

“Nah, actually.” _I’ve always liked kids._ “Eventually, Dad had a falling out with them. Sam an’ I didn’t see ‘em again until a few years ago. We would stop at the Roadhouse when we’d drive ‘cross the country. Tell Jo stories about fighting monsters an’ ghosts. Ellen would get pissed at us for fillin’ her head with ideas. That woman could out momma bear a grizzly.

“She was prob’ly right, in the end. Jo got all stirred up to go out an’ fight evil just like her daddy used to. Girl had more fight than ability. Got her killed. Ellen too.”

They sat in silence for so long, Dean thought Buffy had fallen asleep in his lap. When he tried to move, she said in a small voice, “Something terrible is coming, Dean. I can feel it. It’s scaring the crap out of Willow. I think it’s talking to Spike and driving him insane. With Jen’s death…I feel like I can’t save anyone.”

The Impala’s keys, his jacket, his gun in a box. Then Sam appeared with Cas. He’d been on the verge of saying yes to Michael. Now he was hanging posters in his bedroom and planning dates with his girlfriend. It was cheesy as hell, but he had to say it. “You saved me.”

“What?”

“I get up in the mornin’ and I think about taking care of my baby brother like I’ve done my whole life, but now instead a following that up, wondering what new shitshow I’m going to see today, I think about you.”

“I outrank the shitshow?”

“Hey, I’m tryin’ to say a thing here, and it ain’t easy for me!”

Buffy nuzzled her face into his chest.

He stroked her head and continued. “Being with you is something completely new. Feels kinda like what I remember hope feeling like. I know sometimes I frustrate the hell out of you. You think I’m trying to save you, that I don’t trust you to stay alive, but the truth is you’re saving me. You do good things here, darlin’, and if I can do anything to ease that burden, I will.”

“You want to check on Dawn for me?”

“Absolutely not. One crying Summers is all I can handle.”

“Gooey sweetness has its limits, huh?”

“I’m not gooey sweetness. Who’s gooey sweetness?” Dean scoffed.

Buffy brushed her sweet lips lightly over his. “My head hurts too much to sleep. Will you tell me more stories? Maybe some happier memories?”

“Sure thing.”

* * *

 

Sam, bearing goodies from a nearby bakery, came quietly through the back door like his brother had suggested on the phone. The kitchen smelled like bacon and coffee. Placing his paper bags on the counter, he asked, “How are things this morning?”

Dean set a pan of scrambled eggs on the counter. Quiet voices and crying drifted in from the living room. “Buffy had so many nightmares of girls getting murdered, she’s practically catatonic. Willow didn’t sleep. Dawn is furious and directing it at everyone. Xander’s in there now trying to comfort them,” he whispered.

“I don’t get it,” Dean continued. “They’ve dealt with death before, lost people they cared about. Hell, Tara was murdered upstairs couple a months ago. For some reason, Jen’s death is tearin’ ‘em up.”

“Maybe that’s it. Maybe they’re letting out some feelings they’ve had pent up for a while.”

“Maybe.” Dean grabbed a coffee mug and coated the bottom with sugar. “Feelin’s ain’t really my thing.”

“And you said she just dropped dead?”

“Seizure. Buffy had just stopped a guy with a gun maybe a minute before.”

“That’s some shit timing.”

“Ready to head into the fray?” Dean asked with a weary smile, carrying a hot cup of sweet coffee to the quiet, crowded living room. He put the mug on the table in front of Buffy and kissed her forehead.

“Thanks, but I don’t think I want anything,” she said, pulling her sweatshirt tighter around her.

He crouched in front of her and rubbed her knee. “You have coffee every day. Don’t wanna caffeine headache, do ya? Anyway, food’s on.”

Dawn, curled in a tight ball in an arm chair, refusing all contact but wanting to be with her fellow mourners, glowered at him. “We just lost someone. We’ve barely slept. No one’s hungry!”

“No, you’re probably not,” said Sam. “Sometimes when people are sad, their bodies forget about food, but you still need to eat.”

“C’mon, Sam picked you up some of those blueberry bagels you like. Strawberry cream cheese, too,” Dean said.

“No, I couldn’t–”

“I’m not sayin’ you hafta enjoy it, just get it in you.”

Xander stood up and extended his hand to the tearful teenager. “They’re right, Dawnie. Besides, if you don’t eat those bagels, I will. And that bacon. Dear, God, the house smells amazing!” Dawn took his hand and they walked to the kitchen.

After a couple minutes of Dean and Buffy quietly playing with each other’s fingers, she grabbed her coffee, and they, too, left for breakfast.

Sam sat in the chair opposite the couch and said, “I’m sorry about Jen.”

The hard, skeptical edge around Willow’s eyes softened. “I don’t know what else we could have done.”

He thought about his hundred-plus day lesson on fate, the myriad ways Dean had died, and his stubborn refusal to stop trying. “You did everything you could. You showed you cared. Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

“I am one of the most powerful witches in the world, but I couldn’t stop this. I couldn’t save her.” Willow hugged a pillow. Her eyes turned distant, her mind a thousand miles away. “She was kind and good and beautiful. She didn’t deserve to die.”

“Who does?”

“The misogynist asshole who shot her.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

“I killed someone, Sam,” Willow said without flinching. “Buffy and Xander want me to feel bad about it, but I don’t. Maybe they’d be less scared of me if I did.”

“Screw that. You’re not the only one here who’s killed a jackass. There’s plenty else to feel bad about without giving that guy any of your pity.” Sam handed her a box of tissues. “Have you said goodbye yet?” he asked.

“I-I visited Tara’s grave on M-Monday.”

“Hard trip. Someone was with you, right?”

“Xander. He told me about her funeral, too. Sam, who did you lose?”

“Lately? Or do you mean who was I talking about the other day?”

She squinted at him like she was seeing him, a person rather than an imposition, for the first time. “How many people have you lost?”

He offered a sad smile and a shrug. “Honestly, I stopped counting. The number was getting depressing. For a few years I just stopped making connections with people. If I didn’t have friends, then I wouldn’t have dead friends. But that’s not a good way to live, so I’m trying the friends thing again. Maybe one day I’ll try the girlfriend thing again. At least, I’m hoping the girlfriend I lost at twenty-two, wonderful as she was, isn’t the only person out there for me.”

Willow blew her nose again, gathered her tissues, and said, “I think I’m going to have breakfast on the porch. Do you want to come? I’d kind of like to hear more about trying.”


End file.
